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The smell of percolating coffee filled the cabin as the sunrise leaked through the windows. There was a quiet rhythm to the morning — footsteps on the deck, the shuffle of rain gear, and the soft chatter of preparation. We packed the Elemiah and set out for Verney Passage and Bishop Bay, unaware that the next nine hours on the water would feel like an entire lifetime in a single breath.

This was an incredibly emotional day for our team. We know the whales here by name, and as unique individuals. Losing any whale is a loss of unique knowledge and culture in the population. At this time of year, male humpback whales begin to sing in these waters. It dawned on us that we would never again hear Midnight sing.

I had to slow the boat and ask Cam to repeat his message, for fear that I heard him correctly. His message came through loud and clear: they were with a whale, and it was entangled.

To see so many together utterly took my breath away. The feeling of drifting alongside beings who can be more than 13 times my own length is difficult to describe. I feel the vibrations from the sound of their breath in my chest, and I’m constantly in awe of their ability to glide seamlessly through the water – seldom revealing their true size.

The results were harrowing, even for our own scientists leading this investigation. Numbers were double checked, triple checked, and came back the same. By the year 2030, up to 2 fin whales and 18 humpback whales are predicted to be killed annually from being hit by large ships.

The humpback whales we have known for decades are beginning to arrive back to our region after the long migration from either Mexico or Hawaii, hopefully a few with new calves! Fin whales have rebounded in this region over the last decade, and we are now beginning to recognize familiar individuals from year to year.

Travelling over glassy waters along the Pitt Island shoreline, anticipation was building in my chest until, from a distance, I saw unmistakable sleek black dorsal fins pierce the water’s surface. As we slowly approached, I couldn’t help but continue to wonder who would be in the group. The ability to distinguish individual whales and get to know each of their personalities is what initially captivated me and inspired my dream to be able to study whales in the wild.

My heart sank into my stomach at the realization that this whale was fast asleep directly in the middle of a major shipping lane. With the cruise ship approaching it became clear that this whale was not going to wake up on its own.

If this whale joined the feeding group, what was to prevent another? And another? I had experienced bubble net feeding, but something inside me knew this was about to be different from anything I had ever seen. This time, I may finally witness a group of 10 or more whales working together to feed using one of the animal kingdom’s most extraordinary, powerful, and graceful strategies.

With eyes watching this group’s behaviour from land, from the water, from an aerial perspective through the drone, and a hydrophone listening underwater, we remained focused and curious as to what these whales were doing. After another 30 minutes, all the whales began to travel towards shore and became incredibly surface active. Breaching, tail slapping, and spyhopping! Behaviours commonly observed following a successful hunt.

This phenomenon is known as unihemispheric slow-wave sleeping. When we sleep, we are able to do so for many hours at a time since we rely on our ability to breathe involuntarily. Whales on the other hand have to think about every breath they take.

It was quite an honour when we were asked to carry on with our research and invited in, though with limited contact within the community. Their concern with Covid19 and the possibility of the virus spreading is a genuine concern.

The fin whale is an extraordinary species. The second largest animal on earth (ever), incredibly fast, frustratingly elusive, breathtakingly graceful, and unimaginably voracious. But it is the fact of the fin whale’s presence here, in the fjords of Northern BC specifically, that ignites my scientific imagination. Their use of these inland channels goes against everything we thought we knew.

It’s around 5 am when I begin to stir. The faint sounds of the resident orca family known as the  A30s filling the small, six-by-four meter cabin perched on the rocks, brings me into consciousness. The world’s greatest alarm clock. I am alone on this island as I wriggle out of my cosy nest, switch on my lamp and fumble around for my glasses. The whispers of light from the start of the day hover faintly above Vancouver Island as I peer out of the cabin, adjusting my eyes.

Having launched the drone with a petri dish attached to it, we fly the drone through multiple exhales, collecting a fine mist of sticky, clear coloured whale blow within the dish. Crucial at this moment in time is for us to capture a photo of the humpback’s tail fluke as it rolls into view, or of a fin whale’s dorsal fin, as they prepare for a deep dive.

Within 30 seconds I am standing on the big deck of our little cabin, launching the first of two research drones into the air. I’ve got Eric standing next to me, camera in hand, a second set of eyes on the drone and the humpback whale, maximising our chances of locating it from the air.

As the night progressed the swells that rocked the boat became too intense for most of the passengers. A young couple seated behind us struggled to console their newborn as he battled through his first experience of seasickness.

On a sunny morning, Janie and Chenoah vanish into the sunny glare south of me, and I am alone. They have left for a week to conduct a BC-wide marine survey, trusting me to look after the station while they are gone. For the next few days, the nearest people to me are an hour away by boat.

Even when we’re not actively scanning, the corners of our eyes and ears are always alert and awaiting the next whale. And even when we’re sleeping, it seems that our brains are “on”; any sudden noise on the hydrophone sends us leaping out of bed at night. We are always tuned in.

Where all members know the exact niche they were meant to fill. These last months I have been blessed to be in just that situation. It began with 2 wonderful men, Eric and Max and of course Cohen the best furry friend one could ever ask for. Our goal was to FINALLY get a hydrophone network up and working so we can listen into the acoustic soundscapes of whales.

Have you ever had a moment that completely grounded you? One of those Oh-Sweet-Lord-is-this-really-happening-to-me moments? Heart beating in your mouth, feeling simultaneously both alive and yet strangely removed? Seeing a Humpback Whale, mouth agape, burst through the ocean surface during a ‘bubble net feed’ some 50m from Fin Island cabin was one of those moments for Rob.

The ocean is clear and still. You are gazing out from a thin wooden deck of a rough strewn cabin, upon a rocky outcrop over looking Squally Channel, near Hartley Bay on the northwest coast of British Columbia (BC). Illuminous green kelp grasp the rocks at the ever ebbing shore line (you will later harvest this to eat with dinner) and green untouched pine forests frame the scene. No, you are not gazing into the latest ‘10minute daily meditation’ iPhone app. This is blissful Canadian wilderness. This is Fin Island.

I can say with certainty that anyone who’s encountered a whale here, whether at Whale Point, the Wall, onboard the Elemiah, or otherwise, knows that there is a deeper meaning to the word “whale” than the Oxford English Dictionary’s very dry“a very large marine mammal with a streamlined hairless body, a horizontal tail fin, and a blowhole on top of the head for breathing.”

The silence settled around us comfortably as we tried to absorb the sights and sounds engulfing every cell of our bodies. The sun began to set and the whales continued to come, fluking into the golden light and disappearing into the ocean’s depths as the sun sunk lazily below the horizon. As the light began to fade and the stars began to shine, the whales’ breath continued to punctuate the spell of the silent night. It was difficult to truly comprehend what was happening that night, as each of us tried to really feel this moment, one which no doubt would stay with us all for years to come.

It must have been a miscalculation on her part because as the tide went out, she found herself stuck and unable to move.